Self Fulfilled
by vacant houses
Summary: The Lord Marshal received two prophecies about Furya. Or: the one where the Doctor somehow manages to keep stumbling onto Riddick even though it is a really, really Bad Idea.
1. Chapter 1

A/N:  
At the time of writing, I hadn't watched the new Riddick movie yet, my CoTR knowledge was based on Pitch Black, CoTR, Escape from Butcher Bay and Dark Athena.  
Both franchises do not belong to me

This is a AU fusion between the two universes.

x

**Self-Fulfilled**

"Ever heard of a self-fulfilling prophecy?"

Zhylaw's head jerked up at the question, a newborn Furyan child dangled carelessly in his grasp, wet with its own life-blood. The cord wrapped around its neck glistened obscenely in the light from the surrounding fires but it was ignored by the two warriors standing on the desecrated Furyan soil.

The Necromonger took in the intruder, he was leaning calmly against a fallen pillar, arms folded. A pair of cold blue eyes glittered dangerously but the man's face remained impassive. He wasn't Furyan, the Necromonger could tell. After slaughtering a planetful of them, he could recognize them with the slightest glance. This man was dangerous, one could not mistake it, but he lacked that sheer animal vibe that belonged wholly to the Furyan people. They were fire, heat, rage and untamed savagery, this man was the cold promise of sudden death.

Zhylaw could not help but wonder what sort of Necromonger the man would make, if he was converted.

"I have heard of _a_ prophecy," Zhylaw tilted his head to the destruction he'd wrought upon this wretched world. "A Furyan male would be my downfall. A prophecy that is now invalid."

The man cooly surveyed the wrecked landscape, a look of clear distaste twisting his face. "Prophecy," the man scoffed. "It could have been anyone. Any race. Future's always a thing in motion till some idiot starts throwing around stupid little words like fate, destiny, _prophecy_, thinking they can see the future. It's all unrealized potential, like dough really. Those pretentious words take that dough and give it shape, direction, power, make it real when it didn't have to be. Could've been anything that brought you down, Zhylaw, anything. A Sinatran, the Exxilons, a faulty wire in your great Necropolis, or maybe you never fell at all, the possibilities were endless."

The Necromonger took a step towards the man, eyes glittering in interest. This was no Elemental but he spoke with something of the wisdom of a seer. "Were?" he queried curiously.

"Your prophecy has given your timeline an outline. Your actions here gave those words power, sealed it. It's all solid now, self-fulfilling and all. Can't escape it, can't outrun it no matter how hard you try."

Zhylaw laughed outright, crushing the head of the infant in his grasp in outright defiance to the seer's words. "Furya is _dead!_" he gestured to the dying world with his other hand.

A bitter smile touched the man's lips as he tilted his face to the sky. "There was once a war," he began softly and the Necromonger strained to hear the whispered words. "A war so large it resonated through time and space and put your little crusade to shame. Civilizations were not simply crushed and destroyed, they were erased from the very fabric of reality. The Furyans fought against immeasurable odds in that war, a war that never was and never will be. And they were one of the last to fall."

In a sudden, quick movement, the man pushed himself of the pillar and step up close to the Necromonger. Zhylaw's grip tightened on the blade resting at his hip in warning. "Furyans do not die easily or quietly. And their anger does not lessen in death. I'd be more than a little worried at what you've aroused today."

With these words, the stranger departed, vanishing in the flames. Zhlyaw stared after him for a long while, pondering the prophecies -the warnings- he had been given. Then he scoffed and dismissed the man and his ravings about wars that had never occurred.

Who was he to speak of time and fate anyway?

He was no Elemental Seer after all.

-  
He'd come here to see if they'd remembered.

Furyans gave ancestral memory a whole new meaning so it wasn't out of the realm of possibility that they might recall something -_anything_- about the Time War. The rest of the universe may have forgotten the Time Lords but there had to be someone, somewhere who remembered. Time was an infinite thing after all, there was bound to be traces of his people if he looked hard enough. That Furya had _survived_ he'd taken as a good sign. Some planets had slipped through the Lock without ill effect, intact and unharmed from a War that had once ravaged their surfaces and yet now had never touched them.

The TARDIS had rebelled against landing on Furya, the planet had been all but blocked to them but this little patch in history. And when he'd stepped outside, he knew why almost immediately. Time was all wrong here, straight and narrow and set. A self-fulfilling prophecy locking up the timelines because someone had got it in their head that they could tell the future.

Time Lords would have fixed this within moments. Then again, if the Time Lords were still around, the Elementals would have never dared to interfere so drastically with the galaxy. They were rather active around this time-period but Gallifrey had always kept them in check. The Doctor didn't dare to interfere now however. Time itself was so unstable, still reeling from the War and any attempts to meddle could easily remove this sector of space from all existence.

There was nothing for him here, nothing that he could do at all, except glare at the genocidal maniac in the center of this colossal tragedy and give him a stern talking to.

Useless.

He made his way through the city, avoiding the Necromonger patrols decimating the planet. The TARDIS came into view and he pulled out his key to unlock it when he heard it.

He shouldn't have been unable to, it was too faint for Time Lord ears. A sick, wet rasp of an inhale of air.

The TARDIS throbbed in warning as he peered carefully under a pile of rubble. There was a Furyan woman splattered in blood and body mangled beyond recognition.

And a Furyan child with his own birth cord wrapped around his throat.

Time froze and threatened to shatter as his hand reached out automatically. The Time Lord stopped and stared in horrified recognition.

Oh.

Oh, no.

He remembered a Furyan, powerful, willful and defiant to the very end. He'd commanded his armies into a furious death machine that had swept across battlefields and decimated enemy lines with lethal ease. The Alpha Furyan, a creature that had never met an equal in combat in all time and space.

The Doctor closed his eyes.

A self-fulfilling prophecy loomed in warning.

Slowly, he retracted his hand. Given the choice, he'd have snatched the child up and into the TARDIS, away from the cruel reality an Elemental Seer had so carelessly created with a few simple words to a power hungry Necromonger. But as the timelines crystallized around him, weaved from the violence sweeping across the planet, he caught a glimpse of the man this child would become now. He knew the Furyan would never thank him for it even if he could do it. As a creature of the here and now, the loss of something he never had been or ever know could not and would not bother him.

The Doctor gathered himself up slowly. Someone would find the child soon, someone would remove the cord from his neck and take him from the ruined planet.

But it could not be a Time Lord who shouldn't exist from a planet that never was. A Time Lord who once upon a time might have once been regarded as a comrade in arms by an Alpha Furyan. An Alpha Furyan who would never exist, his timeline twisted beyond all recognition because the words of an Elemental Seer had been given shape and power.

The War was over.

It was time he started to bury his dead and move on.

Furya had no friends left for him now.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Thanks to R. Coots prodding, my brain is alive with fic-lets for this crazy little AU of mine.

**Self Fulfilled  
**

The Doctor doesn't like this. Time's a bit funny here, he's not sure why. The future's ridiculously tight and narrow but it's got a bit of wiggle room. But his investigations have lead him here and he can't abandon them now. The price is too big to pay.

The TARDIS hums in interest. Time has started to heal now, things are getting more stable now but that doesn't mean he can blindly plough on ahead.

He'll just have to tread carefully.

x

"Riddick!"

Someone grabs his arm and forcibly hauls him off Jeremy's prone body. He twists furiously, snarling angrily as he tries to escape the many hands pulling him up and away. He has a moment to catch sight of Davidson's startled face before the man is hauling him onto his feet and down the hallway. "You'll be seeing the warden for this," the guard tells him as he marches the child passed curious onlookers. "What on earth did poor Jeremy do?"

Riddick doesn't answer, he growls instead and tries to snag his arm out of the man's reach. He's a strong little thing for his age but no match for a well-trained guard several times his own weight. Failing that, he sets to work with his teeth, biting at the closest unprotected skin within reach.

"Whatever," Davidson decides, entirely unimpressed with Riddick's resistance. He unceremoniously hauls the boy up onto his shoulder, giving him a strong whiff of scents he'd rather do without smelling. "The new warden will sort you right out. Supposed to be some kind of genius."

The warning doesn't phase the boy, who has turned deceptively limp and is merely waiting for an opportunity to escape to come along. The last warden, Mr James Murray, had been strict but fair, though he simply had not known what to make of him. No amount of punishment or reward improved Riddick's behavior and the man had grown increasingly frustrated with him before his sudden retirement. Despite that, Riddick had respected the man, Mr Murray had remain consistent with punishment no matter how angry he was with one crazy ten year old.

The new warden, Riddick figures, will be no different.

Davidson turns the last corner, knocks on the warden's office and waited to be called in. Once the warden calls for them, the guard walks inside and dumps Riddick into the chair in front of the warden's desk.

"Problem, Davidson?" the imposing man on the other side of the desk reading a bunch of reports is unlike any other that Riddick has seen in his grand total of ten years. He has cold blue eyes and ridiculously large ears, they stick to the side of his head like a set of satellite dishes. As comical as they are, only a foolish man would mistake this man to be harmless. He doesn't smell like anything Riddick's ever encountered before but if danger has a scent, the boy thinks this could be it. The sheer level the warden exudes makes him think, perhaps, he might want to be on his best behavior around this man.

"I caught this brat beating Jeremy Wells to a smear outside the cafeteria," Davidson gives a disgusted snort. "This here's Richard B Riddick and a right pain he is. All yours now."

"Right, thanks. I'll take it from here, you can run along and get back to intoxicating yourself with whatever chemical you were mucking about with."

Davidson freezes. "Sir?"

The warden hasn't looked up yet, he taps a keyboard and brings up a screen with Riddick's file.

"It's Knockdown," Riddick speaks up carefully, he'd pinned the drug the moment the guard had got him to his feet.

The warden glances up at last, an eyebrow raised. He freezes for half a second at the sight of Riddick and a jolt of recognition shoots through the boy's body. His head _hurts_, he drops it forward against the desk as he tries to get himself under control.

The warden has recovered though. "Knockdown huh?" the man says nonchalantly, pinning the unfortunate guard with a glare. "That's illegal on this planet. You have an hour to pack your bags and shove off."

Davidson splutters a protest. "This gutter-trash will say anything-"

"Mate, if you were any higher, you would be out of the atmosphere. I can smell it from here. Get your bags and get going."

The warden glares and the guard recognizes that the man means it. That leaves Riddick all alone in the room with the quite frankly terrifying new warden. His head is still pounding, images of fire and burning keep flashing through his mind but it doesn't keep him from thinking. He'd never met someone else with his uncanny sense of smell, Knockdown didn't exactly leave odors detectable to the average human nose. With something akin to astonishment, he cracks open an eye-lid and ogles at the other man.

"Richard B Riddick," the warden mutters, scrolling through his file. "All round troublemaker, you are, according to this file. A record number of 57 fights with other children …23 instances of stolen property...you set fire to a dormitory?"

That had been several children's homes ago and the warden had commented without the usual scolding tone, rather he'd sounded almost admiringly. Riddick tilts his head to the side, trying to focus through the searing pain in his head. "Didn't have anything to better to do," he mumbles stoically.

The warden glanced up, somehow hearing the distress in his voice. "Don't," he says sharply.

"What?" Riddick demands defensively. He isn't doing anything, not yet. In fact, he doesn't even want to consider pissing this man off.

The warden glances round and seems to notice something that Riddick can't see. "You've got to stop this," he says. "You can't remember, not now."

"Remember what?" the boy demands hotly.

The man reaches across the desk with a speed Riddick is not prepared for. A set of long, slim fingers frame his head and suddenly, the pain is gone. He blinks suspiciously at the man as he settles back, then offers his hand up in greeting.

"I'm John Smith, by the way. That's what people call me."

Riddick eyes the proffered limb but doesn't take it. "You're the warden," he says instead and ignores that the man is lying about his name.

"Hmm, yes. At this moment, I guess I am. So! What exactly did you do to get sent to my office?"

The boy tenses at the question. He gives a dismissive shrug. "Exactly like what Davidson said. I beat the shit out of Jeremy."

The warden, as Riddick chose to think of him, raises a skeptical eyebrow. "And?"

Riddick leans back and folded his arms mulishly and stared straight back at him. "And what?"

"Well, you've got to have a reason," the warden prompts.

"You've got my file. They say I'm crazy. That I don't need a reason because I'm nothing more than a_ fucking animal_."

Pain, actual genuine pain shot across the warden's face and Riddick wonders for half a moment if he's misjudged him so badly. The man closes down the file and then stands up and paces over to the window.

"Do you know why I'm here?"

"Because your idea of a job sucks?"

"I discovered a child trafficking ring out past the Tangiers system," the warden says, staring out the window. "It's gone on that end now. But I tracked it back, and ended up here. Miserable little place in the middle of nowhere where kids can go missing and no one blinks an eyelid."

Despite himself, Riddick shivers. He is piqued by this man, this man who seems to care when no one else does. Children died by the dozen on Mitacoid Two, no doubt about that. It doesn't seem like the warden is lying, unless this is all an elaborate hoax though Riddick can't think of a reason why anyone would go through the trouble in the first place or bother telling him about it.

"So?"

The warden - Mr Smith, Riddick decides- jerks his head towards him. "So. I'm _investigating_!" he says with relish, like he's sharing a great secret and just wouldn't Riddick like to come along and join in? "I don't care what it says on your file, it's all rubbish anyway. Human psychologists, don't have a clue what they're doing and, in your case, what they're dealing with. Anyway. Need some help. Need someone who knows this place well."

Riddick glances around in surprise before staring blankly in shock. Mr Smith has to be joking. What sort of adult asks for help from a child? Especially from _him_, of all the kids in the home. They wouldn't even trust Riddick with a rock (probably because there had been that one time with a slingshot and a concussion and….) much less a pet plant.

But still…

"What do I get out of it?" he demands.

The pain again, vast and terrible twists Mr Smith's face with heartbreaking grief. "You'll be safe," he says with unexpected gentleness.

"Nowhere is safe," Riddick snorts at the man's naivety.

Mr Smith whirls back to the window and slams his hands down, startling Riddick with the sudden violence and reminding him just how dangerous the man really is. The fake warden's hands clench into fists. "If I-" his voice breaks off in recrimination and he gives a broken, half-mad laugh. "No, I can't."

Riddick uncurls himself from his chair and takes one bold step onto the floor, staring at this stranger. "If you could what?" he demands fearlessly.

Mr Smith straightens and visibly calms himself before turning around to face Riddick again. "Doesn't matter," the man says briskly. "Look, here's what I know. Your previous warden, Mr Murray? Didn't retire. Gone missing. Given my line of experience, that's never a good sign. Don't know what's going to come next but I can't imagine it's anything good for you or the kids here."

Riddick narrowed his eyes in frustration, not appreciating that his question has been ignored. "Don't care," he says. "I'll survive. I can survive anything the world throws at me."

The pretend-warden looks tired. "And the sad thing is, I don't even doubt it," the man mutters under his breath with a depressed laugh, not realizing or perhaps forgetting how sharp Riddick's ears are. "Riddick," Mr Smith says, striding over and crouching down so that they are face to face. Strong steady blue eyes falter for a moment under the boy's furious brown before they regain their strength. "Richard B. Strong name. Name of kings. The boy who knows so much more than everyone else. Why did you burn that dormitory down?"

Riddick pulls away and laughs bitterly. "Cause I'm _crazy_."

"Said it was full of monsters that ate your friends. Creatures that hid in the dark and traveled in the shadows. But no one else could see them. No one else could stop them. And in the end, no one believed you."

The boy stops and stares and hates the strange man more than anything else in the world at this very moment. He's just like the others who have read his file, laughing at the mad boy who told stories.

"Humans. Silly little apes, can never believe just how much they don't notice. All the deaths stopped after you burned the nest. You saved them all and they wrote you off as a troubled child."

Riddick's vaguely aware that his mouth has fallen open. He believes. It's impossible. It's _crazy_. Then he remembers himself and pulls backward. "That's people for you," he says coolly.

"Fantastic."

"What is?"

"You. You're absolutely brilliant," Mr Smith smiles and it's a radiant thing, like the sun peering over the horizon. "The boy who isn't afraid of monsters, Richard B. Well now. Makes me think that there's something wrong with one Jeremy Wells."

Riddick jerks his head up and stares. He remembers how Mr Smith could smell the drugs on the guard and he thinks that perhaps this man might understand. "He doesn't smell right," he confesses.

The fake warden is interested. "What does he smell like?"

"Not like a person." Riddick doesn't think that mentioning his instinctive urge to tear the other boy's face off and make sure he is dead, dead, dead and unable to harm anyone will be well received.

Mr Smith stands up and heads for the door. "Does he now? Well, I think this warrants investigating. Are you going to come with me? Might need someone who knows how to handle monsters."

"I don't know," Riddick says honestly. Because as tempting as it is to be swept up in this man's wake, this man who knows about the monsters and believes in him, he can't forget how dangerous he is.

Mr Smith stops and his smile falters. "It's okay," he says. "We don't know what's out there. Better you stay here where it's marginally safer, eh?"

"It's not that," Riddick replies because he is not afraid of the monsters but he is determined to not be afraid of this man. He lifts his head and stares boldly at him. "It's just you don't smell like a person either."

The smile slides away entirely and suddenly Mr Smith looks old and exhausted. "Richard B," he whispers. "The child who knows far too much, you are wise beyond your years. But I swear I am not a danger to you. Only to the monsters that lurk in the dark." He holds out a hand. "What do you say, we go give them something to be afraid off."

This time, Riddick doesn't hesitate, he reaches out and takes hold of the man's hand.

x

As things turned out, lots of running, dead bodies and monsters are involved. They find Mr Murray in the cellar without his head. Half the guards have been replaced by some sort of shaping shifting creature Mr Smith referred to as Cretschsalkator. They manage to get the other children out of the building before luring the creatures to the cafeteria.

The explosion is pretty spectacular.

In the aftermath, Riddick watches as Mr Smith contacts the appropriate authorities (a gas leak was the given explanation) and pressures them to have the children moved to another planet and into a better children's home. When it was all said and done, that's when Riddick somehow brings himself to remember how to hope and approaches the man.

"Take me with you," he says, as Mr Smith fumbles for a key in front of a blue box.

The man stops. He places his head against the box and closes his eyes. "I_ can't_," and Mr Smith sounds broken, miserable and small but it's nothing compared to the shattering of a little boy's hopes and dreams.

"Why not?" Riddick demands, not willing to believe that this man who understands, who believes in him is going to turn his back on him. It's been so long since Riddick's had any sort of faith in an adult and he won't be discarded by this man. His heart hardens and he steps back. If he walks away now, it'll be him rejecting Mr Smith, right?

"Because-" the man starts and stops and then shakes his head helplessly. His hand curls into a fist and he pounds it into the door. "Stupid, stupid Elementals. I'm going to yell at them for this."

The boy doesn't care about a race of beings he's never even met. All that he knows is that he is being abandoned. Without another word, he stalks away to the other children and doesn't look back. He doesn't see Mr Smith climb into the blue box or see the blue box disappear.

The next time he sees something that belongs in the dark, he ignores it. Provided it doesn't go after him, he's got no problem with the things that prey on humanity. People are stupid after all and weak and can't be trusted. If they can't survive, that's none of his business.

After all, he's one of the things that lives in the dark now.

x

The Doctor sits inside his TARDIS. He feels cold and exhausted and _furious_ beyond measure.

"I just shattered the childhood dreams of one of my closest friends," he says in numb disbelief.

The TARDIS thrums comfortingly. He tries to convince himself that it doesn't matter, that that man has never existed in the first place because Furya is gone and the culture that would have raised him is gone along with it.

It doesn't work.

Eventually he rouses himself and lays in a course. They should have never come here but the Doctor's never been one to ignore children in need. And the timelines are starting to heal now and settle down, that's why he hadn't recognized what he'd stumbled into. It was stable enough now for his path to cross with Riddick's when before it would have been unthinkable.

But it's still not enough for him to change anything. Everything's locked in and laid down, the Doctor see the pieces but he cannot nudge them off this path.

He pulls down a lever and the TARDIS sets off through the time vortex.

There's a planet he needs to visit so he can yell at a few people.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Thanks to R. Coots prodding, my brain is alive with fic-lets for this crazy little AU of mine.

**Self Fulfilled  
**

_Helios Three_

It's been a couple of years but Riddick hasn't forgotten the smell of chaos and absolute danger. He isn't prepared for it though when it comes and settles right next to him as he sits in the spaceport's market. Riddick stiffens but the man sitting next to him completely ignores him as he rifles through pockets for something whilst eating some local delicacy.

There's a vice around his chest as long forgotten hopes and dreams comes surging to the forefront of his brain at the scent of the man. Riddick's previous calm is shattered and violence and rage infuses his being. This is not what he wants though, he cannot afford to make a scene, not here and now.

He forcibly turns his attention back to the stall across him. The teenager can see the little gem even now, on display in a glass case. The owner is entirely unaware of its true value but Riddick has a buyer all lined up and waiting for it. He even has a dummy crystal, actually worth the price the merchant is asking for. It's not stealing, really. It's more...correcting the false advertising, making sure the right item is up.

But how to get at it….?

"Found it," the man besides him mutters with satisfaction and Riddick's attention shatters again.

He watches in the corner of his eye as John Smith (or whatever his real name was) pulls a large package from his leather jacket. Despite himself, despite every part of the wide-eyed ten year old child he'd once been and he'd since been so desperately trying to smother, he is intrigued and fascinated. The package shouldn't have fit, there'd been no sign of it outlined in the jacket. But it had appeared, just like magic _-just like he'd once thought Mr Smith was, once upon a time-_ and Riddick wants to know, wants to figure out how he'd done it. He can't help but think how useful it would be to have pockets that can hide things the way Mr Smith's can.

"Here," Mr Smith places the package on the seat between them. "Got a job for you, Riddick."

Just like that, the spell is broken, Riddick's calm is gone and he is on the defensive. He cannot think of a reason for this man to track him down, for him to show up after all these years. He'd waited, waited for so long, a child's last hope that this strange man who'd smelt like danger but had believed in him when no one ever would, this man would come and rescue him and give him a home.

It's been too long and Riddick's stopped believing.

He isn't a child anymore.

"The pay?" he asks, eyes dull and focused on the other job he's on right now. That's at least UDs 50,000 sitting right there.

"UDs 200, 000," the man answers without missing a beat.

Riddick pauses and turns to face Mr Smith carefully. "You have my attention," he states cautiously. There's too much he doesn't know and the former warden sets every single one of his senses on high alert.

"Delivery job," the man answers calmly. "Need you to get this package somewhere."

If anything, Riddick's even more suspicious now. No one pays that much for a delivery unless there's danger and the law involved. That's the sort of price that demanded no questions be asked. His hands curl into fists and he instinctively backs up.

"Why?"

Mr Smith raised an eyebrow. "Does it matter?"

The teenager is in no mood for games. "You are dangerous," he states simply.

"And so are you," Mr Smith returns calmly. "You want this job or not?"

It's that smug condescension that gets to him and it takes all his will not to make a scene. "Why?" he hisses furiously. "Why are you here? What are you hoping to get out of this?"

_Why are you taunting me,_ goes unspoken.

Mr Smith turns away slightly as deep shame suffuses his frame. "Was just passing through when I realized you were here. Can't stay for very long, I'm running a bit short of time. So, need you to make this delivery for me."

Riddick stares angrily and eventually Mr Smith raises his head up to meet his furious gaze. "And to tell you that I'm sorry," the man says sincerely. "Not that it makes a difference to you one way or another," Mr Smith gives a bitter laugh. "I just-couldn't leave things as they were. Hurting you was never my intention. But I wasn't sure…"

The teenager hunches in on himself. These are not words he wants to hear. He doesn't want to have hope again and watch it wither away. "Shut up."

Surprisingly the man falls silent. He pushes the package towards Riddick, then slips a wad of UDs into his hand. It's only half the amount, Riddick notes and he wonders how Mr Smith intends to pay him when he's here on limited time and Riddick doesn't even have a permanent address. Then again, he'd somehow managed to find Riddick here, even though Riddick's pretty sure his presence on Helios Three is not on any records.

The man is a couple of steps away when he stops. "I wasn't sure, you know. If it was better that I stood back and did nothing and ignored the situation. Knowing that I can't fix it. Or if I should try to make the attempt, even knowing that in the end I might end up causing more harm than good."

Riddick doesn't respond, he is staring straight at the ground in front of him and pretending desperately hard that the man does not exist. But he still doesn't fail to hear Mr Smith's next words:

"Happy Birthday Riddick."

By the time he's up, on his feet and ready to shake the man for answers, Mr Smith has vanished.

x

There's an address taped to the package. He stares at it, memorizes the words like they'll give him an insight into Mr Smith. He can still smell that cold scent and he breathes it in until its coded into his brain so that if he ever catches whiff of it again, he'll drop ever everything he's doing and track the bastard down.

Today is not his birthday.

Well, it's not the day that they'd stuck on his records. Still, the truth permeates Mr Smith's words and he is angry and hurt and downright confused despite his best efforts to not care. Just who does Mr Smith think he is? What sort of game is he playing at? He acts like he cares one minute, then the next he's throwing away hints at Riddick's past like he's got all Riddick's goddamn answers but he just won't share.

Riddick promises himself that he'll punch the guy in the face next time he sees him. Then he eyes the gem still sitting in that window and tries to decide what to do with himself. There's enough cash in his pocket that he doesn't need the job anymore, not at this moment. But it's never good business to welsh on a deal. He'll have to deal with this, but it doesn't have to be right now.

On the other hand, he wants answers. Maybe he'll be able to get some out of whoever Mr Smith had him delivering the package to.

x

Riddick's starting to suspect that maybe Mr Smith is just fucking with him.

49 High Street is a rundown shack. Riddick stares at it suspiciously for a long time before deciding that it's unlikely that his other UDs 100,000 is hiding inside but he's got a package to deliver and since he is here anyway, he might as well.

He knocks and listens as hushed voices argued about answering the door. There are a few people home, his sensitive ears pick up a boy and girl at the very least. Finally, a pair of light, timid feet walk over to the door and it opens to reveal a timid little waif of a girl, dirt smudging her face and a bruise darkening one eye.

It's not a sight Riddick's unused to seeing. Doesn't mean it doesn't bother him even though he can barely afford to care about his own life. "Yes?" the girl whispers, holding the door between them like it could protect her from the world. It doesn't help that Riddick's already pretty damn tall and bulky for his age and it makes him all the more imposing.

"Delivery," Riddick grunts shortly and he shoves the package into the girl's hands.

Her mouth falls open in astonishment as she glances down at the brown paper in her hand. "What-?" Riddick backs away just he sees her street-smarts kick in. "Is this for real?" she demands suspiciously.

Riddick shrugs. "Didn't catch his name," he says truthfully. "Said he had a job for me and offered to pay. Didn't really bother asking questions."

Her hands tremble. "I can't take this," she says and he knows she's probably thinking it's drugs or something that'll send her into debt to a man she's never met. If it was anyone else in the world, Riddick might have believed it was a possibility and refused to have given her the package, once he'd seen his client. But it doesn't smell like trouble and he can't see Mr Smith setting out to hurt children.

"I don't know what's in it," he replies. "And I know my word doesn't count for much. Can say that I'd met the man before. And he'd travelled across half the galaxy just to end a child trafficking ring."

The girl looks like she wants to believe so desperately that today is simply her lucky day. But it wars with every bit of common sense that she has. Things are not given for free in the world, there's always an unknown price attached to it. And he hates Mr Smith a little bit more for doing this to another child and making him an unwitting accomplice.

"I'll take it back," he offers suddenly, surprising even himself. "If you don't want to take the risk."

The girl clutches it tightly to her chest and he can see her decision crystallizing. "No! I'll take it."

She backs away and slips inside the shack, vanishing like she'd never been there. Riddick tracks the sound of her feet before turning to leave. He's almost at the corner when he hears the rush of feet down the street. "Mister!" the girl calls out as she runs down after him. "Mister!"

He stops and waits. The girl slides to a halt in front of him. "Thank you," she says. "Whoever he was-I don't know how he knew. But thank you. And, I think this one was for you, it's addressed to someone called Riddick."

She holds out a small round package and Riddick reaches out to take it. The girl is off again but Riddick won't be forgetting the smile she'd flash at him, relieved and happy and joyful and _alive_.

His fingers curl around his own package. It's hard and cold and Riddick frowns thoughtfully. This isn't the best place to be opening mysterious gifts so he heads off to his own shitty little apartment, somewhere on the edge of the spaceport. It's not exactly his, not really. There had been a pair of illegal tenants before him that he'd managed to scare off. He locks the door as he walk inside before dropping down at a chair in front of the kitchen table.

He reaches down into a pocket and pulls a knife. He slices open the package and freezes.

Inside is a gem, as large as his fist and worth at least UDs 1,000,000. It's certainly a lot more than the payment Mr Smith has promised him.

Who the fuck was this Mr Smith guy and _just why was he doing this to him?_ Riddick drops his head into his hands and groans. There are quite a few debts he suddenly can see vanishing but Riddick is terrified that this gift would just plunge him into an even bigger one with an incredibly dangerous man.

He's on his feet and pacing before he drives one frustrated fist into the wall. Seriously, what the fuck was his game? To help Riddick? No one did shit like this. No one. This was not how you assuaged your guilt for abandoning a child a couple of years back. Normal people would have said sorry and then turned away and never looked back, feeling like they'd managed to make things right with just one word.

If that's what this is, it's entirely possible the man made the gesture without any intention of demanding payback. But just like that little girl, Riddick's been on the streets for too long just to accept this gift at face-value. And-if Mr Smith intends to make up for his past mistake, did that mean he was going to see the bastard again in future? There are too many questions and he throws himself back into the chair with a scowl. He glares at the gem and that's when he sees the note underneath it. He picks it up.

_It's yours. Do what you want with it._

_A month's all I can give you._

_-The Doctor_

The Doctor? Somehow the name fits the way Mr Smith doesn't.

And a month-? Till what? The implications unsettle him. Maybe it's time to change planet. Pay all his debts and get the fuck outta dodge. The hell he was going to do with the rest of the money though. He doesn't exactly have any bank accounts to deposit the cash in. It'd just make him a target wherever he was going.

That little girl's face flashes in his mind again and his lips tighten. There are a few kids in need and he knows just the place to start.

x

He's been living the high life for a month on Tetracon Alpha. Well. What counts for high life for him. It's nothing too fancy but he has enough money to pay for a fairly decent place and he knows where his next meal will be coming from. It's peaceful, really. For the first time in his life, he sheds his worry and relaxes for a little bit.

Then there's a dark alley way and a knife and he kills his first man. Something dark and powerful awakens inside of him at the sight of blood. It makes him feel alive in a way he hasn't been all this time.

He's only fourteen and his whole world is just about to get a whole lot bloodier.

The dark thing inside him welcomes it.


End file.
